The Berkana Institutehttps://berkana.org
Whatever the Problem, Community is the AnswerTue, 18 Dec 2018 18:45:58 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.7.2My Personal Journey into Warriorshiphttps://berkana.org/my-personal-journey-into-warriorship/
Tue, 07 Feb 2017 18:23:11 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2904Who do we choose to be in service to this time? I have asked this question of thousands of people in many different places for the past few years and now it’s become the title of my newest book. It’s a question I had been asking myself for many years, as I struggled to discover ways I could serve that also would give me the ability to persevere. Now, after many decades of working in the world, I have declared my answer to this question by naming myself a Warrior for the Human Spirit.

I felt the need to become a Warrior for the Human Spirit as I witnessed what is happening to people in organizations, communities and nations everywhere. In too many places, people just don’t matter. Our great human capacities of generosity, caring and creativity are ignored or denied. And people themselves don’t remember their own capacities as they withdraw into fear, aggression and self-protection in response to this frightening time. Too many leaders grasp for control and self-interest, making short-term decisions that destroy both human potential and the future.

My initial response to this increasing degradation of the human spirit was to work harder, to speak more insistently, to write in a voice of warning–but this only led to exhaustion and despair. Often I was overtaken by disabling emotions of anger, grief and sadness. As I talked with many people, I learned that these were common reactions. And I discovered a community of people intent on doing good work, trying to keep their hearts open, wanting to make a meaningful contribution, aspiring to stay and be of service even as situations became increasingly more difficult and disheartening.

Caught in these emotions and witnessing things disintegrating at an increasing pace, I became aware of the role of warriors. Throughout history, they appear in many cultures, always as a small group of people who commit themselves to defending the kingdom, the faith, the tribe. They train with great discipline and diligence to develop their skills which they willingly offer in selfless service. I studied the role of warriors in Japan, India, Tibet, among Native American nations and in the U.S. military. It became clear to me that this was the role I knew would benefit myself and the community of people I had discovered.

My own warriorship has been grounded in the lineage of Chögyam Trungpa. With unswerving dedication, he declared the need for warriors to come forward in service to this dark time, and created a secular path of training. Within that lineage, my beloved teacher, Pema Chödrön, directed me to a deeper level of practice. After several years of disciplined effort, I am learning the profound benefits of following this path. I am learning how to deal with the overwhelming emotions of grief, sadness, anger and depression. I am learning how to work with my mind and respond more sanely in situations that previously triggered my ego. I am learning how much discipline, diligence, and support are required to develop these life-saving skills. I am learning that I stand on the shoulders of warriors throughout time who have trained to be of service. And as a consequence of what I’m learning, I feel increasing devotion to the human spirit.

A Path for Warriors for the Human Spirit draws on many different traditions of warriorship, not just my own lineage. It reflects the experiences and teachings that I found of benefit as I claimed this new identity and began learning the practices and skills necessary to keep me fully engaged with the world with an open, breaking heart.

I don’t know what the future holds for our world, but in the present moment, I am deeply satisfied to be a warrior and committed to further training. I invite you to explore the Trainings that are described here to discern whether walking on to the Warrior’s path would support you to serve the world at this time. Learn more.

Many years ago I wrote a short piece on the Authentic Call and I was reminded of that recently when someone asked me if I was interested in calling a new training into our community. This was actually a quite logical ask, as I seem to be a serial caller of things (initiatives, organizations, trainings, academies, etc.). It once again made me ponder the nature of the true authentic call, which I distinguish from just deciding to organize something. I remember writing back to the person that it seemed to me that they were the one feeling the real itch for the training and that they were likely the ones to realize this possibility more than if I took it up for them.

It seems to me that a true call, an authentic call, typically shows up first as a (disturbance, an itch, a longing) in one person. My sense is that this is true even when it might seem like it started from a group of people. I think if you examine it closely someone felt it first or at least chose to articulate it first. It could be true that in a group, once it is voiced, it quickly becomes so resonant that it then becomes hard to distinguish it as having come from one person.

My sense also is that when someone feels that longing and voices it to others and they then begin to feel a similar longing or it elevates an already existing longing to the point of greater consciousness, it is not that the first longing becomes irrelevant but that the new collective longing has the more of the nature of the collective than the original disturbance. This can be hard for the first caller but is often an important next step in the realization of a call if that call requires a core group to make it come true.

So why is any of this relevant? I think that the original caller, the one who first articulated the longing, plays a critical role in the actualization of the possibility. They are the original fire starter and need to tend that flame while at the same time letting go into the collective so that the flame has a chance to ignite into something far larger. If they hold it too tight they can squash the flame and any possibility of it becoming something and if they let go to soon the flame may extinguish because it wasn’t tended long enough. I believe the flame must become simultaneously my flame and never my flame (my flame and our flame at the same time). Like quantum phenomena that exist as both matter and wave at the same time so it is the nature of the authentic call.

What do you think?

]]>https://berkana.org/an-authentic-call/feed/1Legacy of Our Healing Circlehttps://berkana.org/legacy-of-our-healing-circle/
Sat, 27 Jun 2015 02:34:38 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2715It all started more than 15 years ago. I’d just left the nonprofit community development corporation I co-founded in 1974. I’d met Meg (Wheatley) through some of the Y2K work my colleague Robert Theobald and I were doing. She invited me to her home in Sundance for a weekend of exploring patterns in our lives and work. It was like a meeting of old souls and we formed an intention to work together.

The next week, back in Spokane, I started to receive version after version of a draft from Meg called Leaders for Life. They kept coming. Finally I decided I had better read this. And I did. Chills went through my body as I read this simple idea: the best way for people to get in touch with the leadership they have to offer in the world is to be in sacred circles of conversation with others who are exploring the same questions.

Within a few weeks myself and my new nonprofit – NewStories – joined with Meg and Christina Baldwin from PeerSpirit, to launch this initiative. We discovered that “Leaders for Life” was already trademarked by someone else and the initiative became know as From the Four Directions.

But I want to go back to my original chills when I read Meg’s draft. It resonated deeply with my own experience. Two and a half years before, when my friend Robert had moved to Spokane after his diagnosis with esophageal cancer, I started learning as quickly as I could about cancer and about healing and how to support him. One of the things that came up in the literature of the time was something called “healing circles.”

I figured we needed one for Robert. I followed my intuition to invite three others to join me in a healing circle with Robert. We met one time and we simply checked in with each other about what was going on in our lives. After the first time we agreed to meet a second time, then a third. It quickly became apparent that it was not a healing circle for Robert, it was a circle for all of us.

For the next, and last, two years of Robert’s life, we met every week for two hours. It became the place where we each stepped further and further into who we were and who we were becoming. No fixing, no counseling, just a sacred space to show up to ourselves and each other and the lives we were leading. At one level, we didn’t have a clue about what we were doing–we made it up as we went along. And we each transformed.

It was the circle that held Robert as he died at the end of 1999, just a month before the climax of Y2K.

Meg, not knowing any of this history, described what we were doing.

Our healing circle has continued to meet. Seventeen years now. A few new people have come in. No one except Robert has left; and we often feel his spirit with us. Once a week for many years. Now once a month if we are able. It has been a space in which we have each been able to be present to our own lives and been able to find our ways forward.

I feel this same energy in the new initiative from Berkana – Gathering Friends. I wish it well!

]]>Humbled by the Power of Circleshttps://berkana.org/humbled-by-the-power-of-circles/
https://berkana.org/humbled-by-the-power-of-circles/#commentsMon, 01 Jun 2015 01:40:19 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2710It is not an exaggeration to say that circles have profoundly influenced the course of my life. My first experience with a circle was in the 70’s when I was living in Rome. I’d recently been to London where I’d seen a street billboard outside St. James Church in Piccadilly advertising an introductory talk on Attitudinal Healing and on impuIse I’d gone in. The talk was given by Geoff Freed and was based on the book Love is Letting go of Fear by Gerry Jampolsky (which was, in turn, based on The Course of Miracles). The ideas spoke directly to my heart and I wanted to learn more so I asked Geoff whether he’d give a weekend workshop in Rome if I could organize a group to pay his expenses. That was the beginning of Geoff’s annual visit to Rome and the beginning of my love of circles.

What I first noticed about circles is the immediate sacred space they create. Sitting in a circle and being able to see everyone present gives a sense of almost over-exposure and yet the talk quickly becomes intimate. I noticed my husband’s pleasure in sharing his feelings–quietly, seriously, sincerely–and how much we all benefitted from speaking and listening to each other in this way. Those early circles were exciting, euphoric even–what we shared in the circle deepened our relationships in a way seldom possible in ordinary life. And though the challenge of bringing the same attention into our lives remained, somehow the memory of our experiences in the circle gave us a new reference point.

The next circle of significance for me was in Spain. Some years previously, a group of friends and I had started a community arts centre in the rural south and an English visitor offered to lead a sweat lodge for us. He took us through a month-long programme: daily preparatory meditations, cleansing fasts and a 24-hour nature quest which included collecting stones and reeds for the lodge which we built ourselves. The final ritual began late in the afternoon and ended at sunrise the next day and the sharings in the dark heat of that circle gave us a new respect not only for each other and ourselves but for traditional cultures and their relationship to the earth. Perhaps more than anything, we felt humbled by what we had experienced together. Again, although the ongoing challenge was to retain the heightened sense of connectedness we’d felt, our expanded awareness slowly began filtering through to our daily choices.

A few months later, at the same project, a German visitor offered to facilitate the building of a Native American Medicine Wheel on the land. This was a circle of a different kind and increased our connection to the elements. Somehow the mental belief or non-belief in a particular viewpoint or lifestyle seemed less important than the simple physical experience of quietly sitting on special stones in the sun or in the moonlight and reflecting on specific aspects of our lives. After our experience with this circle, turning to nature for deeper introspection and guidance became a resource we could consciously access.

Another circle which made a lasting impression on me was the Talking Stick which we began to use to think together or deal with disputes. The stick (or any object) is passed around the circle and only the person who holds the stick can talk. The Talking Stick changed the quality of our conversation and helped us address our challenges together.

These experiences seem to have paved the way for what followed: some years later, having been introduced to Marshall Rosenberg’s NonViolent Communication and its linking of feelings to unmet needs, I participated in a week of Non Violent Communication circles: fifty people in a double-row circle around Marshall and what he called the ‘hot spot’: a chair for whoever wanted to role-play their ‘intractable’ conflict situation so that he could show how, by paying attention to feelings and needs, conflict can be dismantled non-violently. Emboldened by the NVC message, I started to facilitate my own circles: practice groups in which we worked through the exercises together, supporting one another in slowly demolishing our unconscious thinking patterns. These groups led me to the Alternatives to ViolenceProjectwith which NVC dovetails perfectly. The AVP circles usually consist of about twenty people with at least two facilitators in two-three day workshops of experiential exercises and games aimed at changing how we respond to conflict. Having started as an intervention for prison violence in the USA in the early 1970s, AVP has grown into a dynamic, intercultural worldwide network of ongoing circles in more than sixty countries. In South Africa, my home country and where I live now, nothing is more needed than creative ways of dealing with conflict and, because AVP workshops are particularly effective in uniting communities, here I am–all these years later-still being humbled by the power of the circle.

However, participating in an online circle is new for me. I don’t even use Facebook much, but already I am benefitting from the shared resources such as Griet’s wonderful page, Circles of Wisdom. So I am looking forward to seeing how we can create a similarly intimate and significant online spaces in this Gathering of Friends circle.

]]>https://berkana.org/humbled-by-the-power-of-circles/feed/1A Gathering of Friendshttps://berkana.org/a-gathering-of-friends/
Tue, 03 Mar 2015 17:24:01 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2599Dinner at our place, hanging out by the fire, let’s do lunch, a drink after work: these are often some of the sweetest times in our days. Sometimes they are planned and other times spontaneous. Sometimes they are quiet and sometimes raucous. Sometimes they are for serious conversations and sometimes they are for letting go.

What if we made these kinds of gatherings an intentional practice? Intentional in the sense of meeting regularly, at an agreed upon time, for an agreed upon duration, with an agreed upon purpose. What if we committed to each other to keep showing up? That we wouldn’t leave the group for a specified period of time, at least long enough to experience the best and the worst of each other. In these gatherings, we could practice being in authentic relationship with each other with our whole selves.

In three different instances for three different purposes I have been a lucky participant in just such gatherings. I am one of three co-founders of a small consulting and training company. Our company is based on friendship and in many ways authentic relationships is our business model. The three of us decided from the beginning that if our core competency was to support others in developing meaningful relationships, then we needed to make this one of our core practices, as well. We meet together once a month, usually for around four hours. Most months we spend the first hour or two in a deep check-in with one another. These check-in’s are both related to our work with each other, but they are also about our lives in general. We intentionally pierce the artificial veil between who we are as co-workers and who we are as private people. We have been doing this now for about three years.

In the early days of our relationships our check-ins were largely made up of getting to know each other at ever deepening levels. They were heartfelt and often very moving. As the years have rolled along they remain that, but we have also come to reveal some of those pieces and parts of ourselves that each of us struggle to accept. For me, it has meant sharing my jealousy because I am not able to be a part of their work team very often, and at times I feel like a third wheel. I’ve also been challenged when I feel I’m not being heard: I see my habit of wanting to “take my ball and go home.” This is not easy stuff, but it’s real and part of what it means to deal with being in authentic relationships. The commitment is to not quit, but to stay, to see, to learn and to arrive at the next level.

There isn’t time for the whole long and lovely story here, but I have also been in a peer coaching relationship for well over a decade now. These are monthly phone calls and, as you can imagine, we have both gone through many changes in our lives over these twelve years. We have been there for each other as witnesses and coaches throughout this time. My growth and my life’s direction have been hugely altered because of the ongoing authentic relationship with this person.

And, finally, there is the weekly circle of our leadership team in the organization where I serve as CEO and where I spend most of my time. Our team has been meeting in circle once a week, usually for an hour and a half, also over a period of twelve years. It’s how we get work done and how we stay in relationship. As I often say to people: when you meet deliberately over time, using circle practice, the end result is wise decisions and loving the people you work with. That mythical line of our business persona and who we really are fades away. Here, we are real people, caring for each other and doing good work.

I hope this gives you a sense of what we mean when we at Berkana talk about “Gathering Friends.” I hope it serves as an invitation into your own creation of meaningful circles among friends and colleagues.

]]>Berkana Steps into a Bold Experiment in Living Systemshttps://berkana.org/berkana-steps-into-a-bold-experiment-in-living-systems/
https://berkana.org/berkana-steps-into-a-bold-experiment-in-living-systems/#commentsTue, 13 Mar 2012 19:03:23 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2218All living organisms and all living systems rest. From the smallest single cell organism to vast aspen groves connected via intricate networks of roots, life must pause, be still, relax, hibernate, lose its leaves. Stillness is a state of being which allows organisms to later thrive. If perennial plants did not shrivel up and lose their leaves in the winter, they couldn’t reserve their vitality to come back in the spring. If we did not go to sleep every night, we would not have the energy to do all that we need to do during the day. There is a Chinese saying: “the circle of wholeness is made up of action and stillness.” We all need to rest from time to time.

But when do we allow our organizations–particularly nonprofits and social change initiatives–to slow down, be quiet, reflect and receive? Lately, it feels like many of us are always acting and moving, making more and more lists, doing and doing and doing, rushing around and then feeling exhausted. Not only does it seem like this organism called the NGO doesn’t know how to take a break, but as nonprofit employees, we are often challenged to find spaciousness and stillness within our daily work. We’re also doing all of this with fewer financial resources, reduced staff and less time. Maybe this is another reason that the organizational structure of most nonprofits no longer supports their work; the NGO organism has never learned how to rest well.

When people ask me what The Berkana Institute is, I often respond by saying that it is an experiment in applying what we learn from living systems to human organizations. I am quite certain that throughout the course of Berkana’s 20-year history there have been some intentional and unintentional quiet periods. But for at least the past seven years we’ve been pretty active: growing, changing and experimenting with communities of practice and self-organizing. Yet we have never consciously entered into a state of rest.

Today, it feels like the time for that experiment has come.

We plan to enter into this period of stillness consciously, with intention. We imagine Berkana, with all of its rich history and learning value, to be like a garden at the beginning of the winter. The last harvest has been reaped and the first frost is on its way. We’ve learned from our gardens that when we bed them down deliberately at the end of the growing season, they return more vibrant and productive than the year before. We prune or cover the plants in a certain way so that they can weather the cold, still season. Our intention now is to bed down Berkana well for a period of rest and retreat. We know that there are certain things that must be tended to in this process.

The board and staff at Berkana have been working to answer the question: what do we need to do now in order to bed down this organization for the winter well? There are three things that we have identified that we want to preserve through this period of quiet. We will preserve our 501(c)3 tax status; maintain a minimal online presence via our website and social media, featuring a repository of articles, newsletters and other resources that our community can still access; and honor the deep relationships with our web of partners and collaborators around the world. While we may not be actively participating in these partnerships during this time, we will communicate clearly that we are still here, simply resting, while the work in the web continues. We will listen into our community periodically to find out whether or not it is time to begin coming out of our hibernation.

These minimal actions are like the root system of our plant. We will regenerate our energy by doing as little as possible during this time. Yet we will still be very much alive in this still state. Simply resting.

This year we celebrate Berkana’s 20th anniversary. Much has changed over time and we have grown, adapted and reshaped ourselves along the way. We live in a very different world than we did in 1992. Since then Berkana has been on the leading edge of conversations about leadership, living systems and learning. We know our current structure and ways of working are no longer what is called for in our world. This phase of stillness is a way of preparing the ground for the organization to return wiser, more grounded, vibrant and alive in the future.

We are not sure yet what form Berkana will take, nor what need it might serve. But during this time we will listen in, clear space for emergence and allow for what wants to come forth next.

In the coming weeks we will share more about what exactly bedding down means for The Berkana Institute and for you, our community. Stay tuned for information via our website, e-newsletter and email messages.

]]>https://berkana.org/berkana-steps-into-a-bold-experiment-in-living-systems/feed/22Come On Irene!https://berkana.org/come-on-irene/
https://berkana.org/come-on-irene/#commentsTue, 28 Feb 2012 14:12:29 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2136“No more prizes for predicting the rain, only prizes for building the arks.” —Don Beck

This quote appeared on the invite for the Vermont Art of Hosting that took place in late August, 2011. Little did we know that a week after the training Vermonters would be putting their ark building skills to the test when the torrential rains of Hurricane Irene tore the state apart. The calling question for our Art of Hosting was: What are the conversations we need to have with each other to build healthy and resilient communities now? We explored meaningful conversation as a catalyst for community building in the region, where belonging, identity and neighborliness are dyed-in-the-wool traditions.

In Vermont, Hurricane Irene demonstrated (as have other recent tragedies) that disasters of this type and scale often create ideal conditions for communities to become stronger and more resilient. Of course, arriving at resilience via catastrophe is by no means the ideal scenario. But as people move through grief and despair, they recognize their own resourcefulness and come to rely upon the strengths and gifts of others. The day after Irene hit the Northeast, I wrote an email asking participants to consider what purpose their hosting might serve now. I shared:

Given all that has now happened… it is more important than ever to remember, truly and deeply, that we are inter-dependent beings. That whatever the problem, no matter how enormous, community is the answer. Maybe we couldn’t put our finger on exactly what ‘community’ meant in our AoH training, but I am damn sure that in the coming days, weeks and months, Vermonters are going to feel exactly what it means.

And this is just what happened in the small community of Pittsfield, one of many Vermont towns devastated by the flooding. My friend and Pittsfield resident, Traci Templeton, lost her home in the storm. Her story, and her community’s story, begin with destruction and loss, but evolve into narratives of possibility, renewal, flexibility and resilience.

For ten years, Traci lived with her daughter, Mimi, on the edge of town in a two-bedroom house tucked between two little rivers. On August 28, 2011 those rivers flooded their banks with such intensity that the force of the riotous waters buckled the asphalt in enormous chunks and twisted off guard rails, ravaging Traci’s home and the homes of eight other families in Pittsfield.

At around 10:15 AM that Sunday, Traci took her framed photographs and a few other important items upstairs. A short while later, friends from the community checked in on her; they were clear that she was going to have to leave her home as soon as possible. She waded to safety through knee-deep water a little before 11:30am. A short while later, the first floor of the house was submerged in ten feet of water. A raging river ran through Traci’s house and spanned the width of Route 100 at its side. For days we heard nothing. All power and phone lines were gone in Pittsfield, and the road was washed out in both directions. On Tuesday, my ever-optimistic friend posted on Facebook: “Safe! Mimi and I have our past and our future, our friends and family. My community rocks!”

I wrote to Traci in October to learn more about her experience of community resilience after Irene. She recommended I watch a slideshow composed by Pittsfield resident and photographer, Barb Wood, about the hurricane and the days that followed. Between photos of upturned trees and houses ripped from their foundations, Barb asks: “What do you do when the town is without power… you know everyone is safe… the food is going to spoil… and there is no road in or out?” The answer: “You throw a town-wide BBQ for everyone and get reacquainted with your neighbors.” And that’s what Pittsfield did.

Kinesthetic Learning

I grew up dyslexic and learned at an early age that if I could build, move, act, dance or in some way experience the learning process in my body, the information would then penetrate my brain. If I engaged in body play, I retained the learning. Today I identify and am identified as as a kinesthetic learner. Of course, we were all kinesthetic learners in our early development and tons of research now supports the connection between brain function and physical movement. Over the past decade, play has become an emergent topic in neuroscience research.

In college, I wanted to further address an underlying feeling of disconnection and separateness through collaborative learning, so I founded an interactive arts festival at my university. As a young adult I was called to teach, or well, actually kind of pushed at times. I had a lot of ideas about how education should and could be more inclusive of fringe learners like myself and how the experience of learning could be more powerful and engaging if active. I also realized I absorbed much more and my own creativity was enhanced when I learned in relationship with others.

Creating Culture

When I moved to New York City I began teaching collaborative story making, improvisational theater, creative movement and yoga in a public school. It was around this time I met my husband Kevin, who ran a circus arts in education program. We were equally passionate about engaging kids’ learning through kinesthetic arts. It was not just the physicality, but also the ability to provide a medium for the fullness of their being to be expressed. We were clear that we were both really teaching life skills more than anything else, and fostering a culture of communication, cooperation and collaboration. The one piece that was missing for us were these kids’ parents. We could see that our programs had great impact on the children’s ability to make powerful connections in themselves and with one another, but if we were to really make a difference, we knew we had to reach whole families.

The Space Between

Kevin and I have been leading multi-generational workshops and residencies for nearly 15 years. We employ and design ways of connecting groups in co-authored play. We draw upon our experiences in circus, theater, dance and yoga, calling what we do CircusYoga. We engage communities through practices that are physical, social and co-authored.

One example is a game we invented early on called Push Sticks. It’s simple and played by two people with two wooden dowels. The partners suspend the dowels between them with a light push of their pointer finger at the end of each dowel. The dowels become a physical conduit for their connection, giving shape to the space between them. We model various communication dynamics for the group, demonstrating active and inattentive listening, leading, following, dominance, passivity, distraction, risk-taking and synergy. We demonstrate how the sticks drop when imbalances arise, creating a call to awareness. With music playing we invite partners to find their unique conversation and to notice their own tendencies. After the initial round we encourage partners to “get into a situation.” At first, a situation might look like being stuck. We clarify that these situations are not problems but opportunities that make the conversation interesting, in which we can explore how to work together at the edge of our comfort. Sticks may drop to the ground, but now it is a call for invention and creativity as partners find new solutions and ways to stay connected at their edge. This practice offers profound reflections in relationship through fun and embodied play.

Taking it Home

A few years back a mom named Andes and her seven year-old daughter Arenal joined us for a weekend retreat and experienced Push Sticks for the first time. I got an email later from Andes describing how while she and Arenal were playing, her daughter exclaimed “Mom! We got into a situation and it didn’t turn into a problem!” This is exactly what we hope for—these activities providing nourishment for family cultures. Andes went on to write, “I want you to know I feel so different as a parent. I seem to have turned a corner under your juggling, soul searching and laughter.” What did we offer? A laboratory in the shape of a circle where everyone is seen and holds an equal place, where we can explore our connections to self, other and community. It is in the safety of this space that we have nothing else to do but connect. This is our sole purpose when we play games, build human pyramids, walk on a tight wire, invent partner yoga and acrobatics, juggle, fly on one another’s feet or create human mandalas. It’s all about exploring the breadth and possibility of our connection.

]]>https://berkana.org/play-connection-and-resilience/feed/4Communities are the Leaders of the Futurehttps://berkana.org/communities-are-the-leaders-of-the-future/
Tue, 20 Dec 2011 19:09:36 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=2020There will be a picture that will be the iconic image of the Occupy and Arab Spring movements and I would like to request that that picture be taken from a distance. The picture should be taken at least from one of the skyscrapers that looks down on Wall Street, catching a bird’s eye view of thousands of people, or maybe from a distant alley away from the busiest parts of the streets of Cairo. If it’s possible to somehow capture everyone in a single image, I’d encourage the photographer to do just that.

I make this request because I’m not interested in seeing the face of just one person added to the historical canon of “great men” who have changed the world. Don’t get me wrong, many of these people did wonderful things for the people they cared about, and they most certainly did help change history. However, they were only able to help make that change because they stood on the shoulders of millions of others who came together around a shared vision.

Yet the common belief is that the cause of social change still rests upon the individual him or herself as the most powerful force in shaping the world. If you watch this crazy shirtless man dancing on a hill and the TED talk by Derek Sivers about how a movement is more about the group than it is about the leader, you might reconsider the importance of the individual. The success of the Occupy movement, the Arab Spring, the civil rights movement, India’s independence and any other movement depends upon the strength of the social bonds that bring people together for change. In other words, it is only through these invisible bonds, and the communities they create, that we can hope to transform our society for the better.

As pointed out in Malcolm Gladwell’s “The Revolution Will not be Tweeted,” social movements, especially those that are engaged in high-risk activity and are aimed at radically restructuring society for the better, are only successful when there exist strong relationships between the people in the movement. So what then is the role for the individual in a framework that emphasizes the community?

Simply put, the role of the individual is to connect. A network for social change can only continue to exist as long as the nodes, the persons, within that network are strongly connected to one another. So to readers out there I ask you to connect, and to connect passionately to the people who matter to you. Shake hands with community members, have them over for dinner, go out with them for coffee and remember their birthdays.

These acts seem small in light of such momentous events as the “I Have a Dream Speech” or Gandhi leading the people to the ocean to make their own salt. But the truth is that many of these smaller moments, where the world seemed to suddenly change, are not single momentous acts of revolution, just as they are not really led by individual revolutionaries. What we are seeing now is a moment in time that took years, and more likely decades or centuries to create.

And so I’ll continue to hope that if one day there is a photo that captures what the Occupy and Arab Spring movements mean, that it will have been taken from a distance. I hope that photo will show a sea of people creating change by creating community first.

]]>Inviting the Quiet Gifthttps://berkana.org/inviting-the-quiet-gift/
https://berkana.org/inviting-the-quiet-gift/#commentsWed, 07 Dec 2011 18:23:38 +0000http://berkana.org/?p=1994Recently my wife and I were guests at a high end gala in Chicago. The evening’s high point was listening to the event’s two honorees, both human rights activists, one from Indonesia and the other from Zimbabwe. Their simple words and humility captured everyone in the ballroom. For a brief time there was a community sharing the company of two remarkable people.

Then, the gala “got back to business.” The mood shifted. A designated “ringmaster” challenged us to dig a little deeper so the event could reach a new level of support. Everyone had received a little transmitting wand that allowed us to enter donations and be recognized on two gigantic screens. “Oh look! There’s Jack and Sally Jones.” This was the culmination of the gala–a celebration of the donor.

Reflecting back on the eventing, two questions came to mind: Where does the “quiet” gift fit in this world of ours? As individuals and communities, where does the natural flow of our giving show up?

The two honorees’ work was within cultures of quiet generosity, community, care and shared commitment. They are a part of an ancient and sacred linage where giving is as natural a sunset, an apple, or the casserole delivered to an elderly neighbor. Berkana is experimenting with just this kind of giving culture. Shilpa and Manish Jain’s book, Reclaiming the Gift Culture, is a collection of writing that provides a wonderful variety of examples of quiet giving and introduces the term gupt daan or “undisclosed giving.” In Ladakhis Tibet, cooperation and mutual aid is inherent to their culture. Beverly Bell writes of the guiding principle in Mali which is: “Who you are is very much defined by what you do in relationship with other people. It’s how much you give to others.”

In contrast, there is the noisier way of giving. Our support provides recognition, benefits and status that can range from tax benefits to the gala take-away gift bags. More value and time are dedicated to the wealthier prospect and the larger donation. YES, we must pay the rent and make payroll, but at the same time we are diminishing the place of the “quiet gift”.

So how does the quiet gift (gupt daan or “undisclosed giving” in Sanskrit) seep back into ourselves and our communities? This question is an invitation for your own reflections and responses. I’ll start.

Be mindful of your ongoing capacity to live out gupt daan. I send you an advance thank you.

Teach your children and our youth the idea of gupt daan.

Read and share Shilpa and Manish Jain’s book, Reclaiming the Gift Culture. Much of my writing has been inspired by this gem.

Team up with your boss and colleagues to explore how your community can begin the welcome the gift culture as a value enhancement in the workplace.

For me, I try daily to be attuned and grateful for nature’s ongoing generosity… dancing leaves, sunlight brightening a brick building, breezes through pine trees. I want to try “7 days, 7 gifts”, a giving challenge. The idea around it is simple. In this practice, you are invited to give one gift each day for 7 days to friends or strangers.

If you have any ideas or stories about how to live out gupt daan, I invite you to share them here and welcome a conversation.

Dick Durning partners with individuals, teams, and organizations committed to increasing their own capacity and ease in securing financial support within a space of integrity, engagement, joy, and invitation. He offers practical skills and fundraising “Generous Space” methodologies through coaching, workshops, and hands-on applications. Learn more at Wisdom-Exchange.